


Let Your Juvenile Impulses Sway

by PeopleInThatBackRoom



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Smiths
Genre: Andy and Morrissey are washing dishes, M/M, Washing dishes I say, Well Andy is actually drying and putting them away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleInThatBackRoom/pseuds/PeopleInThatBackRoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy and Morrissey are stuck doing dishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Juvenile Impulses Sway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ad_Absurdum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/gifts).



> This h're little piece is for Ad_Absurdum, one of the most awe-some writers I've met on this site. (Thank you for introducing the awesome ship of Andy and Moz to me!)

Twas a cool evening in the month of May that Andy and Mike had persuaded Johnny to accompany them to a bar in a the area—while a reluctant Morrissey tagged along. 

The evening went by rather swimmingly, with nothing out of the ordinary happening. The night, was a different story altogether, however. 

Mike had gotten drunk. _Really_ drunk. To the point that he created a disturbance in the bar—"M-my ears 're not that big!" "They _aren't_!"—something broke, someone cursed, and Andy and Morrissey were stuck doing dishes as a penance of some-sort for Mike's ruckus.

Johnny had left with Mike—he was the only one the intoxicated drummer would listen to—and by this time, Morrissey was sure Johnny wasn't coming back for them. Or, more importantly, coming back for him. 

No, he was trapped here, doing dishes with Andy. Or, should he say mugs? Glasses? Cups? 

Whatever the objects were known as, the obnoxious fact that shamelessly displayed itself was that he and Andy had to wash, dry and put away, _all_ of them.  

If he knew how strenuous it was to wash so many dishes, he would have already made a petition for the rights of dish-washers everywhere.  

And so, this is what was presently happening the singer of The Smiths—he was in some poorly lit kitchen, rubbing dirty dishes with an old, just-as-dirty-looking sponge; afterward, rinsing off in soapy water he wouldn't exactly describe as the _cleanest_ he had ever seen. 

The worse part about this, was that Andy had reached the drying cloth quicker than he had—Andy didn't have too touch the disgusting bits of everything. He didn't have too let the awful-looking sponge touch his skin. No, all he had to do was dry the bloody dishes and put them in their respective areas. 

This somehow gave the bassist permission to stare at the singer every few minutes, gleeful laughter dancing about in his eyes. 

Oh, how it annoyed Morrissey.

"What's so amusing?" he finally asked, still holding a leash on his now _slightly_ irritable self. He did not, receive a verbal answer from the shorter man. Instead, Andy focused his eyes on the dish he was drying. Morrissey sighed in relief at this. Finally, some comfort in this horribly stuffy prison. 

This feeling did not last long for the singer, as the said bassist began his atrocious taunting once again. Smiling widely, indulging his eyes with the sight of Morrissey suffering. Not ceasing for even a whole second in this subtle torment of the mind, and.....

All earlier traces of self-restraint dissipated and the singer acted rashly—scooping up soapy dish water in his hands, he placed the not exactly uncontaminated substance on the bassist, who, though a bit shocked at first, began to grin.

Of course, for Morrissey, embarrassment was a immediate reaction after he had fully realized what he had done. He did not apologize, however, instead he focused on the dishes he had yet to wash and the one now in his hand. 

Oh, how this was to be a long night.  

It wasn't too soon until curiosity took over the bored singer, and little by little, he began to peak about the room, avoiding any sight that would make him raise his head from the dishes. Even in the slightest bit. 

Still, he did, eventually lift his head slightly, letting his eyes roam around until they accidenly met Andy's, which held a teasing glint mixed with amusement. "Mozza, you've never washed dishes before, have you?"

Morrissey frowned at the bassist. "Of course I have. Who hasn't? Washing dishes does not, at any point in time, mean one _enjoys_ doing them." 

"I s'pose you're right." the bassist answered calmly. Morrissey huffed the said reply. How dare he. Answering as if he hadn't questioned him on being able to accomplish basic human functions. How dare Andy. Did he have any idea of the predicament Morrissey was in? Did he? 

Well, yes. He did. 

Morrissey felt a twinge of guilt arise within him. Andy was in the very situation as he was, but the bassist showed no sign of complaining or disgust.

"Here—why don't you dry an' put away, while I wash?" 

 _And_ he was offering the slightly more sanitary job. Morrissey was now overwhelmed with guilt. Why? Why did Andy have too be so compliant to his needs? Why? 

"Really?"

Andy shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? Mozza, you can do this an' I'll do that _if_ you do one thing for me."

One thing? Well, it was the least he could do, anyway. "What?"

"This," the bassist remarked as he took some of the soapy dish water and placed it on the taller man's face.

The horrified singer stifled a scream. Did Andy just......

"Why you! You....... _you_!"

"Did the same thing you did to me." the bassist answered calmly. 

Why? Of all the things Andy could have done. He did this. This. Even after Morrissey was all ready to give into guilt—he did this. The nerve of him..........

What? 

Was Andy....laughing?

Yes, he was. The bassist was holding the dish rag tightly while chuckling without ceasing.  

"You should see the look on your face Moz! It's really priceless."  

How dare _Andy_.

"Woah!" Andy exclaimed as the singer pushed all his weight onto him. However, he pushed a little too hard and the two fell onto the floor, a still fuming Morrissey landing atop of a heavily amused Andy. 

Morrissey did the only reasonable thing one could in a predicament such as this: He decided to get up and pretend the said circumstance never happened. There was one small flaw in his plan, though—the bassist underneath him was holding on to his wrists tightly, and wouldn't let him up. 

"Andy," the extremely irritated singer practically hissed. "Release your hold on me."

"Andy, do it. _Now_." 

"I'll let you go if you........If you kiss me."

" _What?_ " 

"Yeah—Mozza, I'll let you go if you kiss me."

He must have not heard Andy correctly. Surely he didn't demand a kiss from him. Right? 

"Don't be shy, Moz," the bassist grinned wickedly. "I promise I don't bite, hard."

"Excuse me?" 

Andy only kept on grinning at him. His eyes looking up at the singer as if they were testing; daring him, to make a move. Of course, Morrissey didn't want to do either—nor did he want to back to washing the dishes, though. All he wished for was that at least one thing could go right tonight. One thing! Anything. _Please......_

After his brief period of mental lamenting, the singer hesitated only a bit longer before leaning over to place a kiss on the bassist—his target, being the shorter man's nose. He never reached his clever goal, however, and instead, felt the bassist shift up a little to let their lips meet. The sensation that came along with such an action, was like none Morrissey had ever felt. It was a warm tingling feeling; nice and soft and all too short for the singer's liking. He did not, of course, express such thoughts, but coughed to get the equally dazed bassist's attention. 

" _There_. Now, Andy, I believe you said you would let me go." the singer said cheekily, carrying on a small expression of annoyance for extra effects. 

Andy blushed, color brightly staining his cheeks. "Yeah, sorry......."

Afterward, the two went back to their respective jobs, now working in utter peace and silence. As shocked as he felt at the emotion, Morrissey had disappointment crawling up his skin. He did not know in the slightest reason why, but only knew that he somewhat missed the fuzzy tingle he got in his stomach when he and Andy had kissed. This information, however, was to stay within his head, and appear no where else. He didn't need anyone thinking anything horrendous—for insistence, that he liked _Andy_ in that way. Slander and lies. All lies.

The only good thing that came out of this was that this random event kept Morrissey's mind preoccupied enough to lose more of its grudge towards dish-washing—and for it, just about a half an hour later, Morrissey found himself sighing in relief. They were finally _finished_. 

"Done." Andy said as he folded up the drying cloth he had been using; a bit tired himself. The two, relieved that they had finished the task, had almost thoroughly forgotten what they were to do next, and instead the duo began to look for some place to sit, too engaged in their task to notice a new presence enter the kitchen. 

"Moz? Andy? Sorry I took so long. Mike didn't want to have a pillow—not his pillow at least. Sorry, Andy." Johnny said as he walked towards the two. "So? What have you two been up to?"

"Nothing much," Andy answered, picking up the dishrag he had only just put down, throwing it at Morrissey. "We were just having a bit o' fun, right Mozza?"

The fore-mentioned singer groaned in annoyance at Andy's words, while the said bassist chuckled.  

Johnny looked from the singer to the bassist, in short-lived confusion. "Well, your fun is over—for now, anyway. So, let's call it a night, huh."

Morrissey nodded tiredly at the guitarist's words, while Andy followed silently. They made their way out of the so-called stuff prison (formally known as the kitchen), said goodnight to the owner and headed out into the cool night, slightly frosty air piercing their lungs.

The trio started off together, but the rest of the trip to the hotel they had been staying at was mere seconds for Johnny, (who just so happened to have more energy than both of his bandmates) and soon enough, it was once again, just Andy and Morrissey; the two, not exactly side-by-side walking peacefully. Well, they were walking peacefully until Andy happened to open his mouth again. 

"Now, that wasn't so bad, Mozza, hmm?" the bassist teased, ready to taunt Morrissey throughout the rest of their walk.

Things, however, did not happen the way he planned and instead, for an answer, the singer grabbed Andy by his jacket and kissed him. 

The shock on Andy's face was truly priceless to Morrissey.It truly satisfied the singer, especially after all he had gone through with the bassist this evening. He walked onward—alone now, for the bassist was still frozen in that particular moment—a smirk gracing his lips whilst a pleasant feeling overwhelmed his stomach.

Moments later, Andy suddenly snapped back into reality, a fluttery feeling in his chest, he knew was caused by the kiss the singer had given him.

Speaking of which, where was Moz?

Andy's eyes roamed around until he spotted a figure in the distance that unmistakably looked like Morrissey. The bassist took off, running to the slowly fading silhouette of the singer, a bit more desperate than he wanted to be to catch up with him.

"Mozza— _wait!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what do you all think?
> 
> For me, personally, I think it was somewhat decent enough as a fic. 
> 
> Random Confession: I also feel a lot more comfortable writing Moz than Andy (see: don't look into this or you might be on to something).


End file.
